Through thy looking glass Hephaestus doth glares

Truth may shatter and replace with my lies

Roman and Greek profiles turn with cold airs

Thou fervent crimson in my own mind's eyes

Thou speaketh Plato's silver tongue and faze

and play Orpheus's enchanting sound

Bubbling fever rises with passing days

Unbeknownst own intrumentally wound 

Venus matter not and Eros with scorned

Thy heart reside in note and perfect pitch

True drum pounded and beat painfully bourned

Forgotten and torn still pounding the stitch

Strings plucked fatally with indifferent tug

With regret, thy be both poison and drug